


Paintings

by thisaccountisdone



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Biting, F/M, Hair-pulling, Half-Sibling Incest, Scratching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisaccountisdone/pseuds/thisaccountisdone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She wants to tear him apart so that he falls into her cracks and they can be broken together. She knows he's already broken but she wants him to be like her; completely and utterly destroyed. She wants to dig her nails into his heart and carve her name so that he's hers and hers only."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paintings

They're two pieces of the same fucked up puzzle; related by the blood of their father and the mistakes he's made. They've made mistakes, too; so many that they can't count them on their fingers. The mistakes keep on coming but they've stopped caring.  
  
Spencer's gotten to the point where nothing matters. Her eyes are hollow and her clothes are ragged. She's torn at the seams and she doesn't care enough to stitch herself back together. She wants to make everyone around her feel even a fragment of the pain she feels.   
  
Jason is her life; her flesh and blood. He's more family to her than Melissa and she cares about him. (Maybe more than she should.) It gives her a kind of fucked up pleasure to hurt him. The wild and frenzied look in his eyes and the curve of his mouth makes her throat burn as if she was downing alcohol.   
  
She wants to tear him apart so that he falls into her cracks and they can be broken together. She knows he's already broken but she wants him to be like her; completely and utterly destroyed. She wants to dig her nails into his heart and carve her name so that he's hers and hers only.  
  
The part of her mind that's still sane tells her that it's wrong. She shouldn't hurt him when he's been through so much. She's the only thing he has left and she should keep him safe. She laughs that part off because no one's safe in this fucked up little town.  
  
They can be a danger to each other. They can be the knives against each other's throats, pressing in and burning as blood begins to bubble out. They can be fire racing down one another's skin and pooling in their stomachs. They can paint the town red and then run away.   
  
Jason is the only one who has ever seen the devil lurking beneath her skin. She smiles and bats her eyelashes and dresses in her cute little collegiate blazers but inside she's seething. She wants to wreak havoc on the world around her and burn it all to the ground.  
  
He sees it because that same impulse lives inside of him. They're the same person, really. Sometimes when she sees him, she hears her voice in his words and she sees her eyes reflected back in his. They even move the same sometimes; like wolves on the prowl.   
  
She goes to him one night with her hair disheveled and her voice almost deliriously manic. She knows that her eyes are crazed but the fire inside of them only makes her hotter. When he sees her standing outside his door, he grins and the dim lighting makes him look demented.  
  
He invites her in with a quirk of his lips and she pushes past him; stands right by the stairwell, hips leaning against it. It's like they've somehow made this silent agreement even though they haven't seen each other since _that_  night.  
  
She shouldn't have gone to the mausoleum. She shouldn't have spilled that secret that wasn't hers to tell. She shouldn't have relished the pain in his face and the way she could see his veins bursting against his skin; pulse jumping and racing, ready to kill. Hurting him was like hurting herself and it felt good; almost like a proverbial razor.   
  
She watches his chest rise and fall. The bags under his eyes shows that he hasn't been sleeping but neither has she.   
  
"What do you want?" he spits out like venom.  
  
She pushes herself off the banister and stalks towards him. When she reaches him, she slowly moves her hand down to the hem of his jeans. Her fingers lace under and she pushes her body against his. His breath catches in his throat and she laughs.  
  
His arm moves around her back and his fingers crush into her shirt, pulling it up slightly so that part of her back is cold. For a moment, their gazes lock; wild eyes against wild eyes. She breaks the contact by pressing her lips against his.  
  
He tastes like whiskey so she runs her tongue along his lips and lets herself taste him. She wants to envelop herself in his taste until there's nothing left. His other hand grasps her hair and she feels his fingers pulling at her hair as her hand moves lower under his jeans.   
  
She pushes him hard against the wall; his head banging against the wall and making the house shake with their own trembling bodies. Their movements are frenzied as they rip off clothes. She bites into his shoulder and he lets out something between a shriek and a moan. She pushes her teeth in deeper until she tastes blood.   
  
He lets out a shaky laugh and rocks his hips, making her shiver. Her own hips buck in response and they begin to move faster in some messed up dance. Her fingers curl against his skin and she throws her head back as she moans his name. His nails rake down her back, drawing blood.   
  
He bites her all over; her neck, shoulders, arms. She's sure she could map out constellations and name them all after the way he makes her body feel. They're releasing their pain through each other's skin and each gasp and moan is another demon being exorcised.   
  
Her body is burning all over. She wants him so much that it aches. He's inside of her but it's not enough. She knows she's encoded in his DNA and his in hers but she wants their blood to run together. She wants their bodies to intertwine until they become some horrific tapestry.   
  
His blood covers her body and her blood covers his. She tastes him in her mouth and on her lips and inside of her bloodstream. She breathes him in with every oxygen-starved inhale. Her head pounds with the pleasure and the pain but there's something in the drumbeat that makes her yearn for more.  
  
"Jason," she says breathlessly like a prayer spoken to an unholy god. If she says it enough, will something change inside of them? She says his name over an over as if her mind has become a broken record player. She says it in moans and in screams as his fingers tear down her skin and pull at her hair. She says it as she explores his mouth and as she presses kisses against every part of his skin that she can possibly reach.   
  
What started off as a misery fuck has become something more. She likes to think that she could love him and maybe, someday she can. The world she lives in is so messed up, though, that she doesn't think she'll ever be able to love again. Even if she could, why would anyone love her? It'll never be anything more than a fuck.   
  
They'll never make love.  
  
At some point, she knows she loved him. The love pressed against her rib cage and made her tongue sore as it carried the weight of words unspoken. Now she loves him as one loves a broken doll; desperate for the past but too attached to let go.   
  
When he comes, he says her name. It's not a scream like in some movies; it's a word that's whispered against the shell of her ear like it's a secret that only the two of them are meant to share. For a moment, she feels like she's been transported to some time when things aren't so fucking miserable. She says his name back and collapses into his body.  
  
He holds her there as their nail tracks and teeth marks turn to scabs. It's almost symbolic in a fucked up way. All of these wounds were made but they're going to heal one day. Maybe they'll be scars and they won't be forgotten but they'll close and the pain will fade into a dull memory.   
  
It gives her a sense of hope. She knows there will be scars- although invisible- painted down her back. Anyone able to see them would be able to look at the twisted map of her life and make their way through the brambles and to the core. She doubted anyone would ever try; risk their own precious flesh for her patched up coat of skin.   
  
Maybe Jason would. He'd be hers forever now. Even if the marks she made didn't scar, she'd still be branded into his skin. Any girl that touched him wouldn't ever come so close as she has. He's her blood and that's special. They can taste him- drink him in- but they'll never truly be his.  
  
That's a privilege that's Spencer's alone. They'll always be together no matter how far away they are. Her taste will always be in his mouth and her scent will always be embedded into his skin. Her blood will always run through his veins. It makes her  _want_  him to try to fuck her away because she knows he never will.   
  
He knows it, too, because he smiles at her and this time it's not demented. It's a little frayed around the edges but there's a glimmer of hope in it. It's a relic of their fractured past and a vision of their distant future. The path is twisted and snarled and littered with thorns but it's there.   
  
She doesn't think she'll believe it for long. She'll go back home and she'll feel his body against hers and feel the jagged marks on her skin that scream his name but she'll forget that promise in his smile. The sun will rise but her world will be no brighter. She smiles back for only a moment but it's not the same as his.  
  
He tries not to let his hope falter but she sees it- for a moment- in the way his eyes flicker. She gets dressed and he watches as she flinches every time she moves. His skin burns the same as hers does but the pain is nice; cleansing. He wants to say something but he keeps his lips pressed together.  
  
She gives him one last look before she leaves. Her tongue aches with those words that she's been longing to say but she keeps her teeth clenched for fear of them spilling out. She's too broken to love and be loved. She turns away knowing she'll be back tomorrow and the day after that until her there's no room left on the canvas that is her body for teeth and nails to paint.   
  
Even then, she'll let him paint over those Monets and make new masterpieces. She'll do the same to him but no one will see the work they've so painstakingly created. Their art is for only their eyes to behold. It's fucked up but maybe one day it'll become something beautiful. She isn't holding out hope but a part of her wants it so badly.   
  
She wants to get away from this whole world that's been built around her just to be torn down. She wants to rebuild with him and pretend they don't have a past that's so fucking twisted and disgusting. They won't let the people around them see the maps that are painted on their backs.


End file.
